


At the Crossroads

by freyjaschariot



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjaschariot/pseuds/freyjaschariot
Summary: Post 8.05. Arya is riding north. Gendry is riding south. By fate or chance, they meet in the middle.





	At the Crossroads

The Inn at the Crossroads was only a few days ride from King’s Landing, yet it might as well have existed in a different world entirely. 

Birds called overhead as the white horse picked its way past the low stone wall that surrounded the inn. Light dappled the ground, and in the distance Arya could hear a brook babbling as it wound its way toward the Trident. 

Arya stopped in front of the stables and slid down from her horse. 

The air smelled of hay and fresh baked bread, and for a moment she could almost pretend that she didn’t still smell the burnt hair and charred flesh of King’s Landing. Didn’t still hear children’s screams and old men’s dying gasps. Didn’t still see the ash falling like snow, settling in the hair of dead women and babes.

“It’s two crowns a night to stable ’im, and another one to feed ’im.”

Arya jerked around, hand falling to Needle, but it was only the stableboy—a buck toothed, be-freckled youth with ears too large for his face. 

“I can take ’im for you, if you like,” the boy said, gesturing at the horse. “What’s ’is name?”

Arya gazed at the stallion as though seeing him for the first time. “I don’t know.” 

She would have preferred not to stop, but the horse was foaming at the mouth and she knew she wouldn’t get far without it. She fished in her pocket for a moment and managed to come up with a single crown, which she held it out to the boy. 

“I’ll give you this to wipe him down, feed him, and have him ready to leave within the hour.”

The boy’s face was skeptical. “You sure? He looks like he could use a good night’s rest. So do you, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

“One hour,” Arya repeated. “Will you do it or not?”

The boy shrugged and pocketed the coin. “An hour, then.”

While he led the horse away, Arya ducked into the inn. The long, drafty common room was just as she remembered it, with kegs piled at one end and a large stone fireplace at the other. The ceilings were low and the walls dark with soot. A few dusty travelers sat at the narrow tables, conversing in low voices over mugs of ale and bowls of stew. 

“Arry? It is you!” 

Arya turned to find Hot Pie beaming behind her. His eyes widened as he took in her bruised face and bloodied clothes. “You must be coming from King’s Landing, then. I heard there was a battle—”

“It wasn’t a battle.” Images flashed before Arya’s eyes. Dead horses. Dead mothers. Dead brothers. Dead sons. “It was a massacre.”

Hot Pie nodded seriously. “That’s what we ’eard. Everyone’s talkin’ ’bout it. They’re saying the Dragon Queen razed the city. Couldn’t believe it when Gendry said he wanted to go there—”

Arya’s heart seized in her chest. “What?” She grabbed Hot Pie’s arm. “Gendry was here? When?”

“Still here, innit he? Showed up ’bout an hour ago. Only meant to stop for some food but he was falling off his horse, hadn’t slept in so long. Said he’d ridden down from Winterfell in five days, can you believe it? The mistress told ’im she wouldn’t give his horse back til he slept an hour or two, for the horse’s sake if not his, so he’s upstairs sleepin’ now—where you goin’, Arry?”

But Arya was already gone.

She took the stairs two at the time and crashed into the upstairs hallway just in time for the nearest door to open, for _him_ to step out—

For a moment they just stared at each other, two moths caught in each other’s radiant flame. Then they were both moving. A cry wrenched from Arya’s throat as she launched herself into Gendry’s arms, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and _sobbed_.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Gendry gasped, fingers winding almost painfully into Arya’s hair. “I thought… When I heard what happened… And I wasn’t there—” 

“I’m sorry,” Arya whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes burned with tears. What she was apologizing for, she wasn’t sure. For leaving him behind in Winterfell. For not saying goodbye. For being unable to save even a single child from the dragon’s flames. For being weak. For thinking love a weakness. For all of it and none of it all at the same time. 

For several moments the two of them just clung to one another. Then, slowly, so slowly, Gendry set her down, his expression turning pained as his summer blue eyes took in her bruised and battered form. 

His thumbs skimmed over the purple skin beneath her eyes, the gentleness of his touch at odds with his large, calloused hands.  
“Arya…”

“I thought I knew death,” Arya said softly. “I thought I knew—”

Gendry shook his head. “No one knows death, love. That’s why it’s Death.”

Arya let out a strangled laugh and scrubbed the tears from her eyes. “You’re mighty wise for a boy who doesn’t know how to use a fork.”

He offered her a small smile. “I have my moments.”

Arya’s eyes locked onto his, gaze imploring as her hand rose to cover his where it cupped her cheek. “Say it again.”

Gendry brow furrowed. “What?”

“My name. Please.”

Gendry’s expression softened. “Arya." Stooping down, he punctuated her name with a kiss. “Arya,” he said again, and again he kissed her. “Arya,” he murmured against her lips, and this time it was it wasn’t just her name he was saying. It was Arry, and Lanna, and Cat, and No One. Arya Horseface and the Nightslayer. All those parts of her that Arya had thought unlovable. All the parts of her that Gendry loved anyway.

How very wrong she been.

Rising up on her toes, Arya kissed him back.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments inspire me to keep writing!


End file.
